Portrait

The last time I was in London, it was 2005, I was 4 years younger, I was with my mother and a lot happened.

I was there for one and a half weeks, and it seemed as though everything happened all at once.

The Live 8 concert happened. Approximately 200,000 people, I’m certain from all over the UK, spilled into Hyde Park to see it. To see everyone from Coldplay to U2 to Elton John to Annie Lennox to Madonna. And of course, Pink Floyd reunited, for the first time together with Roger Waters on the same stage since 1981.

Wimbledon happened. I think Federer won.

I went to my first Pride parade, as London Gay Pride week unfolded. It was beautiful, colourful and lots of mischief and fun, and I saw Ian McKellan in the flesh.

The July 07th bombings, which came to be known as the 7/7 bombings happened, leaving 52 dead and 700 injured.

I saw the amazing, enigmatic, utterly skillful Akram Khan dance for the first time, at the premier of Zero Degrees at the Sadler’s Wells theatre.

I saw the work of Frida Kahlo, alive as I had never seen them before, at the Tate’s Summer exhibition.

London won the bid for the 2012 Olympics, incidentally the day before the bombs, and it hence became London 2012.

Personally, a lot of other stuff happened too. I was ever the theatre enthusiast: I saw the Phantom of the Opera, and A Winter’s Tale at the Globe. I was the tourist; we went on the London Eye, I did the wax museum. I went to beautiful, beautiful Oxford. I flirted shamelessly, and batted my eyelids at bars to get drinks. I wanted to buy everything I saw. And it was nicest because for that time, I had my mother all to myself, and we had a good old time, us girls.

I cringe when I read my posts from then, but in a way, I am so glad I have the posts, however embarrassing the may be. It’s not only a record of all the things I did there and what a wonderful time I had, but it’s also a reminder of who I was then.

This time I go with a serious schedule, and by myself. I’ve relatively calmer, more interested in music and theatre than in spending 25 quid on the Wax Museum, and even though I could legitimately drink, something I couldn’t do last time, I’ve already done and gotten over drinking, and don’t anymore. Is life always this ironic?

London town, here I come.